


He said: this is why you can't sleep; you need to stop bottling up your emotions

by sciencemyfiction



Series: Rally Ho - Warriors of Light [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, I was goaded into this you know, about our WoLs in a shared universe where they're the Warriors of Light, despite vastly differing story progress, for anybody, now the challenge is did I write it successfully without quite including spoilers, self-indulgent stuff about friends' PCs and mine, so this is what happens, they wanted Marci to go get drunk and talk about her Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-03 14:23:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21180902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencemyfiction/pseuds/sciencemyfiction
Summary: Danica Voss: Emotions? in a healthy way? nahNeran Fletcher: Marci needs to get drunk and cry on someone and have to deal with the awkward the next morning like the REST OF USMarcellette Jinjahl: I want to write nowaka more self-indulgent stuff written about friends' and my WoLs over in Eorzea, this time about Feelings





	1. Chapter 1

It takes work for Danica to get him on-board. 

Neran has commissions to finish for the Weaver's Guild, first; then he also has patrol to do, alongside the Amal'jaa he and Marcellette befriended. This involves beating back their tempered brethren, and coming face-to-face with those whose minds no longer belong to their own will, which is something Neran still has not gotten used to, and will never be entirely comfortable with. When he returns to Ul'dah proper, sweatsoaked and weary, Danica is waiting for him with a fresh wave of demands. She's been lurking around the Gate of Thal, and she catches him easy, offering a guard while he uses the not-as-private-as-he'd-like bath in the inn. While she leans on the door outside the room, scaring off any would-be bathers with her Don't Fuck With Me scowl and Impressive Fucking Muscles, Neran sinks into the hot water and groans when the ache of a body overused at last begins to ease. 

"All right," he says, when he's finished and dried and dressed, and is now carefully cleaning the steam droplets from his glasses. "What do you want?"

"It's Marci," Danica says, and Neran sighs, nonplussed. 

"Pretty sure she's still married."

"Don't be literal with me, Fletcher," and she punches his arm, probably lightly, for her. It fucking hurts. He grits his teeth hard, unwilling to admit that part. "I want to treat her to a night on the town. Get some drinks, have some fun!"

Neran doesn't think that that sounds like a him kind of event, and says as much. He then finds himself in a headlock. 

"Come on, help me!"

He hangs from the headlock like a limp kitten, affecting boredom. 

"Let go."

"Will you help?"

"Undecided."

"I can carry you like this, you know."

Neran doesn't want to find out how effective or true that is. He gives a half-hearted struggle but as his still-smarting arm would suggest, he doesn't have the beef to be breaking out of Danica's grip anytime soon. The only person he knows who's got as much muscle on her is probably Marcellette, and that's deceptive physique at its finest. 

"I accept your terms under protest. Let me go."

She lets him go.

"So why aren't you just asking her to go on your own?"

As they head back to Neran's inn room, he watches the way Danica's mouth thins into a line. He doesn't know what it is his friends have seen lately, but they all know loss, grief. Some of them are handling it better than others. Neran is keeping his head down, or has been. Maybe they're not going to let him, anymore. Maybe they're pulling him in. 

Maybe that's just how it has to be when you agree to serve as one of the Warriors of Light. 

"I did," Danica says, crossing her arms over her chest. "She said no. And yes, I offered to reschedule."

"Why did she say no?"

It isn't that Neran has a low opinion of his friends; in fact, they're some of the truest he's made in his life, and he would trust any one of them with almost every secret. (Which is good, since the kind of trouble they get into together tends to demand more than just average trust. It's like. It has to be advanced trust. Trust rank III. That sort of thing.) But that's not the point, the point is he would absolutely believe that Danica might, if she got excited about an idea, perhaps, possibly, forget to respect boundaries sometimes. That's just how she is, larger than life. She loves harder, laughs harder, screams and cries and fights harder than just about anybody he knows. Marcellette is stoic where Danica is loud, and maybe sometimes they clash, or they could. Neran isn't sure if they do. It just seems to him like they could. 

So, he wants to know the reason he's being pressed into service, here. 

"She made some vague excuse about it not being a good time. Hence reschedule. Plan ahead, I thought, you know? Maybe she's not so much for spontaniety."

"Huh." Neran kicks the door to the inn room shut so they can have a little privacy, and makes his way over to the writing desk where he's been making use of the morning light to work on his commissions in peace and quiet. Sewing in the guild hall can be enjoyable and even pleasantly social, but sometimes he just needs a little space to himself so he can think. 

"Right?! Isn't it weird?"

Danica sits heavily down on the bed, and crosses her right leg over her left knee, resting one hand on her ankle, and her elbow on her knee. With her chin in her hand and her glower unshielded, she reminds him of that dragoon she's been spending so much time with, lately. The one he barely knows- Estiniven, or something? They certainly have a comparably venomous glower. (He decides to keep that thought to himself. After all, he's supposed to be thinking about convincing Marcellette to go out for drinks, not about Danica's not-so-secret-boyfriend.)

"I guess it's a little strange. She's not usually the sort to be vague, right?"

"Not that I know of. It's, like, the number one thing R'Linvra complains about." Danica sighs heavily, blowing her bangs out of her face. "How the hell did they ever end up together, anyway?"

Neran declines to comment on it. 

"Well, why do you think she'll say yes to me?"

"Be_cause_, you fool, she's soft on you. She gave you a nickname. And built a room onto the house for you. She doesn't do that for everybody." 

Neran thinks of the too-quiet house in the Lavender Beds, all the way over in Gridania, and the room Marcellette built for him, and how it shares a wall with hers. There's an orchestrion in the main house, always playing loud, colorful music from regions around the world. That's R'Linvra's work, though; Marcellette's room never leeches sound into Neran's, instead acting as a buffer of solitude. Sometimes he isn't sure she ever even uses the place. So what does it mean, to spend three months building him a room in the house she only visits twice a year, if that? Does it mean they're close, that she considers him important? 

"You're making it all weird, now," he says, cross at the confusion Danica's stirring in his heart. He's got a comfortably whatever relationship with Marcellette. Maybe she thinks of him as like, a younger brother, or something. That's the impression he gets, anyway. 

Maybe Danica's onto something. 

"Okay, well. So. What do you want me to do?"

"You've got a linkpearl, call her up on it." 

Neran wrinkles his nose. 

"This is going to be weird and awkward."

"I mean, it's only weird if you make it weird."

_That's **my** line,_ he thinks, and sighs, touching the linkpearl he wears like an earring in his left ear. (It's the better one.) 

"Marcellette? Hey, I was wondering if you're in town?"

There's silence, first. It takes a moment for messages to send, but Neran knows the delay is almost negligible. Aetherial currents carry so much information so rapidly, it's almost alarming how quickly one can communicate even with a person on the opposite side of the world. 

But, if Danica's here and had been pestering Marcellette earlier, she shouldn't be over in Doma right now, or even Gyr Abania. So any delay is just. Hesitation. 

He lets go, and mutters to Danica, "Are you sure she isn't sleeping right now? I don't want to-"

"Nern, hi. Yeah, I am."

The linkpearl crackles to life, Marcellette's voice coming through clear on the channel they all share. He wonders if Jihlel will chime in. He hasn't seen her in ages. And R'Linvra really _is_ in Shirogane right now, so she probably won't have any input, except to say _this is the last time I forget to take out my linkpearl_, which she's complained at least six times in recent memory. (She clearly still sleeps with it in, so whatever. He doesn't worry about accidentally waking her up anymore. At this point, it's her own fault.)

"What's up?" Marcellette sounds like always; distracted, in the middle of six things, busy but ostensibly ready to drop it all if he needs anything and okay maybe Danica has a point. 

"You know my name is Neran," he mutters, unable to crush the treacherous smile curling his lips in spite of it all. "But, yeah, I was wondering if you might join us for drinks tonight."

He realizes belatedly that he doesn't know where, or when, and looks wildly at Danica, who whispers to him _The Peacock's Pinion! _and _Willow will be there too!_ and _after sundown!!!_

"Drinks?" Marcellette sounds wryly suspicious, now. "Danica putting you up to this?"

Danica hisses _say no!_

"Yes," Neran says, just as wryly, savoring Danica's annoyed expression and shrugging as if he couldn't help but tell the truth. 

"Sneaky."

"Willow's coming. And me. And- actually it would be nice if you could come, though. I made this incredible music box with an aquamarine inlay, I'll grab a glamour prism to show you what it looks like."

Now Danica is clutching her face in suspense, expression a silent rictus of fear that even her best-laid plan will fail. The silence stifles them both, as Neran wonders if maybe they're intruding on some kind of personal business, and Danica progressively grows more distraught-looking. 

But when Marcellette speaks again, her voice holds a fond sort of exasperation. 

"I can come along, I suppose. Where we going?"

"The Peacock's Pinion," Neran says confidently, and then tries to remember where that is. "Uhh...I think it's on the-"

"It's outside of town," Marcellette offers. "Along the wall. I know the place. When should I be there?"

"We'll be there just after sundown. Willow's not free till then."

Neran has determined this is the case because he and Danica are currently free, and is proud that he doesn't have to look Danica's way for cues. She seems pleased, throwing him an enthusiastic thumbs-up, but freezes when Marcellette responds. 

"Well, Danica, I guess I'm coming after all. See you guys in a bell or two. Later, Nern."

"Later," he says, and rolls his eyes at Danica's embarrassed flailing. She doesn't completely disgrace herself and respond on-channel, but he can tell she thinks about it. The thing is, if she does answer, it only proves Marcellette incontrovertibly right, and if she doesn't, she gets plausible deniability about having orchestrated the whole conversation, and for this particular conversation, she leans on that, waiting until Neran's closed communications to pump her fist in the air and hoot about their victory. She lays back on his bed, and Neran snorts, turning back to the embroidery he'd been working on before he went out on patrol. It's a commission piece nobody else in the guild wanted to touch; the customer asked for something with otters along the hem and sleeves, and it's admittedly delicate work. Probably not something he should have taken on with a two-week deadline looming over his head. He hasn't made much progress, the last three days. He works on it in the silence, keeping his hands busy, even if his mind is elsewhere.

Danica recovers, eventually, and sighs, making a big show of being relieved. In answer, Neran only says,

"That went well."

"Step one of my nefarious plan is complete," Danica agrees, rising from the bed, her fingers steepled. "Step two is to go actually get Willow out of her study."

These are the words of a Voidsent, guised in the pretty voice of an actual person. These are words that spell doom. Willow's study, a sideroom shared by all high-ranking members of the Thaumaturge's Guild and filled with books on the arts arcane that even Urianger finds dense and dry, is a place of power. She spends time there when she is preparing spells, enchanting items, and learning more of the history of Allag, the lost Fourteenth, and more. It is absolutely accessible by the general public because it really only contains books and sometimes people who study thaumaturgy, but it feels ominous, as locales go, and also is very painfully, magically and brightly lit, making it one of Neran's least favorite sorts of places. Nothing has ever appealed to Neran less than the thought of dragging Willow away from her research, and he's fought actual, literal gods a few times. You know, Warrior of Light shit. 

An angry, tea-less Willow dragged from her books is a million times scarier than any primal. He doesn't want any part of that.

"No?" he says, trying to test the waters of How Fucked Am I to see if he'll have to go along with it. 

Danica's steepled fingers straighten, and she presses her palms together, her lips to her fingertips, eyes alight with the fires of You Are Fucked, Actually, Do Not Fight Me. 

"This was _your stupid plan_," Neran grumbles, setting aside his embroidery. He doesn't want to mess up the pattern; he knows he'll start accidentally stitching moogles if he isn't careful. He always defaults back to moogles when he's feeling annoyed. (Something about stabbing moogles into existence with embroidery needles is really, _really _satisfying.)

"This is for the good of everyone's night, which is going to be _fun_ because I _said so_," Danica insists. "Besides, she's been worried about Urianger ever since- you know."

Neran doesn't want to talk about that, so he changes the subject back to where it ought to be: his righteous and doomed denial of his desire to be involved with Danica's scheming. 

"Before we go bother Willow, what are the other steps of this plan? What's the end goal?"

Danica smirks, because she knows she's won, and Neran rolls his eyes and good-naturedly goes along with it, waiting for her answer. 

"There's only three steps, don't worry. And the goal is to get hangovers from booze instead of the Echo, for once!" 

"Wow."

"I know, right?"

"Huh!" 

Neran hadn't considered the fact that he hasn't gotten drunk since all this stuff started, but it's actually true. He hasn't had a hangover _ever_, thank you very much, because he doesn't like being drunk, but he hasn't let himself just relax and have fun in a long time, either. He's willing to bet that's true for Willow, for all she plays it cool, and he knows Danica needs this sort of thing. Even if it hadn't been her idea, he sees how her smile is a little too wild, a little too scared, sometimes. He knows how hard things have been on her since she started fighting to take Ala Mhigo back from the Empire. He knows things just get harder when you keep going. And, well, he doesn't _know_ that Marcellette needs it, but he's willing to bet that Danica actually has the right idea, here. 

So he decides to officially be on board with the plan, even the bad steps, and stands up. 

"All right, but you do the talking this time. I don't want Willow associating me with interrupting her reading."

Danica grins toothily, and stands from the bed to join him. 

"This is a burden I will gladly bear."


	2. Chapter 2

They find it little trouble to get an escort to the study, since it's not technically only Willow's, and sometimes being a Sultansworn holds clout, too. Also Neran had forgotten that even if this place wasn't open to the public, Danica is technically a thaumaturge, so she could demand access anyway. He wonders if Danica has told the guild receptionist yet that she's run off to become a dragoon. Then he wonders if they just know, seeing her biceps. Probably they do. 

The study smells faintly of various alchemical and aetherial items which are stored here, and Neran's nose does the What The Fuck Is This polka. It sucks. His eyes water when he stands a little too close to something that is definitely dead and being preserved for later use, and so through no fault of his own, he reflexively, instinctively steps away from it and towards the reading table where the target of their mission is sitting, her face pinched in quiet concentration. Danica is still looking around, some kind of vaguely nostalgic and maybe sorrowful expression on her face, and hasn't said anything yet. 

While Neran towers over everyone in their group but Danica, Willow is their sole lalafel member, and thus tiny. Her practical, pale blue hair is shot with white from stress or age (he has never asked which and frankly? he is never going to. He wants to remain Alive for as long as possible) and she generally wears black robes decorated with variations on skulls, bones, bones and skulls, skull bones, and the occasional boneskull. And Willow is Neran's friend but as a weaver and, also, someone with taste, he does find her choices in fashion a bit on the grim side. She famously got along with Y'shtola even before Neran met the two of them, and Y'sthola is also known for her dramatic- he has to hesitate to call them thus, but- _fashion_ choices. So, it's with absolutely no surprise that he notes today's choice of robes are black, ornamented with squirrel skulls on the collar. Of course they are. He hopes they're at least comfortable, for her sake. 

"Hi, Willow," Neran says, because the bright light is already giving him A Dazzle, and oh, he does not want a hangover really, let alone a migraine, but he's willing to risk the former for the greater good of fun if they can just get out of here as soon as possible.

It takes a moment, but she looks up. He can imagine she's finishing the sentence she was on before she allows herself to process any outside input. Of their number, Willow has always seemed the most mysterious to him. Danica and Neran are the Mundane Ones, in his mental categorization; they're outsiders to Eorzea, even if they come from wildly different places and _ha ha ha _he's terrified Danica will find out where he's from someday and they'll become enemies, because he knows where _she's_ from and well. Best not to think about it or talk about it or dwell upon it, right. Willow, though, she's an austere mirror to the Sultana. Where Ul'dah's young ruler boasts an enormous heart and a charming naivete in matters of state that Neran treasures, Willow projects a clinical aloofness in regard to anything that isn't a freshly brewed cup of tea. It serves her well in politics and medical practice, and it's not that she can't be friendly, when she feels it's appropriate. Just. 'When she feels it's appropriate' is a zone of unknown conditions, as far as Neran is concerned. It took a while before he even realized they _were_ friends. 

Also, she's been known to set people on fire for pissing her off. _Not often_, but it's happened, and Neran doesn't want to join that ill-fated crowed, thank you very much.

Willow stares back at Neran over the rim of her reading glasses with an impassive expression that gives him chills, her hands palm-down on the book he just interrupted. He gets the distinct impression she's taking a moment to reorient herself, coming back from some distant mental landscape where she was applying whatever-it-is to a theory for whatever-she's-trying. Most likely, she's working on how to fix things, regarding the Urianger situation. That's. That's complicated and makes his chest tight with worry for lots of reasons and so he doesn't rush her, just waits, doing his best to look, uh, some kind of welcome to be seen, rather than a pesky interruption. 

She softens to pleasantly distracted the moment she realizes it's just the two of them, not Business she needs to attend, and looks back down at her book, marking where she was with a black ribbon and closing it carefully. 

"Hi, Neran. Danica. What brings you both here?"

"Drinks," Neran blurts out, because Danica's still looking at the spine of a tome in a tongue he can't read, and he's floundering and also now left to tank this social encounter, which is not something he signed up for. Social encounters cannot be deflected with shields, generally speaking. This is one of his many issues regarding social encounters, in fact. He is very good with shields. He is very uncomfortable when they cannot be employed for tactical advantage. Also Danica promised to take this one.

"Drinks?" Willow repeats, sounding unconvinced. 

"Drinks!" Danica agrees, the sound of their voices snapping her back into the moment. Neran is saved. (Also, relieved.) "Yes. With Marci! At the Peacock's Pinion."

"Drinks at the Peacock's Pinion?" Willow's tone sounds downright judgy now. Drinks do not include tea, or arcane research, and they do not sound important and oh, Neran knew this was going to be bad but there's the telltale wrinkle in Willow's brow. Oh fuck oh no-

"When was the last time you took a break?" Danica is Good though, like Really Good. She knows how to sound like Trust Me, You Can Eat And Sleep Here And I Will Make Sure You Are Safe. Willow's haughty frown starts to melt away. She sighs. 

"It's been a few bells, actually." 

"They serve dinner there! Come on, don't you wanna see Marci?" 

Willow smiles, and takes off her reading glasses, setting them pointedly atop the book she's marked. 

"She and I have been in touch quite a bit, lately. But, I'm always happy to spend a little time with my friends. And...well, I suppose I'm not making much progress here." Her stomach grumbles, and Willow laughs, patting it consolingly. "Maybe I'll do better on a full stomach."

That...was a lot less painful than Neran feared. As the three of them start the walk to the city gate and outside to circle round to their destination, Willow and Danica catch up on her latest theories, and Neran just breathes a sigh of relief that he can continue to count himself among the Not Set On Fire for another day. 

They're a little early, but the walk does get interrupted several times before they leave the guildhall, with various younger practitioners asking Willow's advice or input on various matters. Getting outside of the city is another lengthy affair, clocking in at a half-bell before they make it to the city wall. They still arrive at the _Peacock's Pinion _well before their fourth, and claim a table to wait in the meanwhile. Willow puts in an order for dinner and a cup of ginger tea, citing her usual stomach pains as the cause when Danica worries she's making herself sick, working so hard. Neran tunes out as they start discussing thaumaturgy rumors and new apprentices within the guild and how this or that person is doing, watching the door. 

He's the first to spot Marcellette when she comes in, then, and lifts a hand to wave to her, catching her eye. It used to be she'd sneak up on him, a pair of not-quite-matching yellow eyes gleaming in the dark just to his right as she stepped out of the shadows. Then she started dyeing her hair green, and Neran is grateful for that, though he probably will never admit it out loud. R'Linvra is the sort of woman with elegant taste and a master designer, so there are times when she dresses her wife accordingly. But at the moment, Marcellette is wearing a simple tunic and tights, with boarskin boots so worn he could cry. His heart yearns for the day Master Rose decides to make a project out of outfitting the Warriors of Light more properly. (Maybe he should pester Tataru about it. Tataru is probably the only person on the planet who could cow all six of them into doing something, and he would be willing to take the initiative for fashion. He just. Has to work up the nerve.)

She waves back and gives a small smile. No fangs in public, she's always more reserved in a crowd and actually, Neran wonders if this plan is going to backfire. Danica will certainly drink, maybe Willow, but Neran's already pretty sure he doesn't want more than a pint or two of something cheap, and Marcellette's got legendary tolerance for the sauce. Hm. They might just all end up under the table while she's laughing it up over her twelfth shot. On the one hand, that would be a seventy-five percent success, technically. On the other, Neran never likes to chance anything less than complete success. Failing to do something at that ninety-nine percent mark is just too gods-be-damned frustrating. 

Marcellette comes over to the table and trades greetings with them all, sitting down across from Danica and Willow. She's close enough for him to feel the warmth of her nearness, even though she gives him plenty of space. He doesn't know what to make of that. Was she just out in the sun, or is she sick?

"Finally got your nose out of a book, huh, Willer?"

"Says the serial letter-writer."

"Look, if I don't make the moogles work from time to time, they'll forget how it's done," Marcellette says, deadpan aside from a tiny crinkle of amusement in her eyes. "You should write back."

The waiter arrives with Willow's dinner and the first round of drinks, and Danica bids Marcellette order something too. Predictably, she takes a mug of cactus piss, because she never gets tired of sabotenders and sabotender-related items. Neran doesn't comment, accepting his mug of salt ale and eyeing the roast Willow ordered with interest. Oh. He is actually...very hungry. Before the waiter can escape, he puts in an order for the same meal, and by then, Marcellette notices the specials for the day include fried gudgeon, and orders herself a plate. It takes Neran elbowing Danica for her to realize that she's now the only person not eating, and the elezen waiter is expectantly staring her down, not wanting to have to go back and forth more than necessary. 

"Oh, uh, I'll have whatever the special is."

"Danica," Marcellette chides. "You _hate fish._ She'll have the roast."

Danica looks a little green, her nose wrinkled at the thought of the bullet she just dodged, and nods emphatically. 

"Yes no I will have the roast. Sorry. Just enjoying the stout."

Their waiter shrugs, unperturbed, and he double checks that they've all asked for what they really wanted, really and truly, and after they confirm, he returns to the bar, passing the order along. Danica laughs at her near-miss, and takes a good long pull of her stout. Willow, perhaps out of sheer cruelty, perhaps because she's hungry, tucks right in to her roast, and Neran catches the sound of Danica's stomach growling across the table, just as he's struggling to tear his own hunger-addled eyes off the plate. They laugh at each other. 

It's...nice. Being social and stuff. Still new, sometimes, but it's nice. Especially after a long day. Especially after fighting tempered folks and having to scoop his emotions back together again relating to all that that entails, since he can't go around in the grip of shock all the time. 

"Don't go getting the idea I'm nice, or anything," Marcellette teases Danica now, her left fang catching on her lower lip in a wry grin. "I just didn't want to have to resist the temptation of a second plate of food sitting so close, _knowing_ you'd try to force yourself to eat it anyway."

"You could probably use a little more meat on your bones," Danica laughs. 

"Even Nern looks tougher than you, Marci." Willow's mouth is full, but she manages to talk around her food with the expertise of someone who rarely takes time to eat except while in the middle of work anyway. And Neran's kind of just...watching the three of them and feeling oddly glad he's here, with them, like this. It's probably not the right time to get all warm and fuzzy about things, since they've barely started their night. But, well, he's not the best at doing things at The Right Time. He just does them when they feel right. 

And right now, this feels like home. 


	3. Chapter 3

Neran and Marcellette are the only ones still comparatively sober by the time they leave the bar. Danica's ruddy-cheeked and excited; she's a happy drunk because she is a relentlessly happy person, and Willow is a happy drunk because Willow is too soft to be sad. (That's what Neran thinks in the moment, anyway. He doesn't say it out loud yet. Luckily. His brain is still being checked by the little gremlin called inhibition, for now, and so he gets to enjoy his friends kind of cutting loose while also maintaining his image. Whatever his image actually is, these days.) And Marcellette is, well, the same as ever. Quiet, but wry. She listens to the others talk and makes too-sharp remarks that are hilariously to the point, and frequently flow into the conversation like a well-rehearsed play, rather than something off the cuff. 

The bar's gotten rowdier the longer they stay, and Danica polishes off her fifth pint, the bones and bowl of her dinner leavings now stacked with the previous two. When she stands, so does Neran and so does Willow. Willow also hiccups, and it's the cutest sound Neran's ever heard. She makes a face, embarrassed, and tries to hold her breath and make them stop. It doesn't work. 

Marcellette is still sitting, for a moment longer, but she rises up when Neran catches her eye, and offers a steadying shoulder for Danica. Willow doesn't need one, yet, but they'll see. In any case, Danica's much heavier. 

"Calling it a night, then?" 

That's Marcellette; she has to shout practically, right into Neran's ear, to be heard. They definitely need to go, at the very least for Neran's sake. He didn't foresee this level of...everything. Noise, people, smell. He's had enough liquor to handle it temporarily, but also he feels panicky and closed in. Is he reading it into Marcellette's shoulders, or is she all tense, too? He nods, and Marcellette nods back and begins the delicate game of chaperoning Danica out of the bar without letting her crash into anyone who might look like fun to brawl with. Danica seems to realize they're herding her though, and laughs loudly, pushing to the front of their line and slamming open the door, first to escape the ruckus and clamor of the _Pinion._

Then they all step out into the cool evening air. Danica immediately shivers, muttering something about Camp Dragonhead and hugging herself. This has a domino effect on her balance. She leans hard on Marcellette to her right, which makes Marcellette stumble to keep supporting her, which makes Willow bump into Marcellette and start to fall. Neran swoops in to catch Willow a second too late, and falls to the ground as he's trying to shield her from the same, elbow first into the dirt. When the dust clears, a sandy Willow is there beside him, hiccupping and giggling at her misfortune. 

"Whooooops!" Willow cackles, pushing herself up and shaking off the worst of the sand. "Didn't see _you_ there!" 

It's not really funny, but it's funny, and Neran snickers to himself, while Danica gives a great big belly laugh and wheezes _sorry sorry sorry sorry!_ unrepentantly, leaning so hard on Marcellette that this time she almost topples over anyway. 

"You're not sorry in the slightest," Marcellette snorts, patting Danica's back. "Got your bearings there, Voss?"

"Ohhh yes. Gottem. Ready t'go," Danica slurs with a sloppy salute. There's a smile on Marcellette's face, though, and Willow hiccups with such a loud squeak that the facade cracks, and the smile turns into a laugh almost as unrestrained as Danica's. They get themselves in order- eventually- after they've laughed themselves out, and stumble on back inside the city. Hastily, they make plans for sleeping arrangements. The list of options is shorter than he'd like; they could all stay at the barracks, they're all in the Flames, but who knows how much of a dressing-down they might get come morning if anyone's hungover. There's always room in the Gladiator's Guild too, but Danica and Milla haven't made up since they tried to talk about Aldis and Danica maybe too-directly implied that Aldis wasn't worth Milla's time, so while Neran's certain _he_ would be welcome, he isn't willing to break up their group just yet. It's Willow who first suggests the Adventurer's Guild. Her reasoning is sound: Momodi knows them all, and even though only Neran currently has a room booked, Momodi is sure to let them in, even rowdy. Neran is amenable enough to at least agree to this plan. He's willing to let them share the room for a night. His personal space is important, of course, and he might kick them out in the morning but. For the immediate moment, it's a serviceable option.

Also it is the easiest option for Neran personally, which he manages not to say out loud because he is not quite drunk, and _that_ is a victory.

"To the Quicksand then!" Marcellette declares, only for Danica to elbow her roughly, pouting _nooooo_. "What? Why no."

"They don't have 'n aetheryte?!" 

Marcellette's brow furrows, and she staggers to a stop. (Their whole line also does, because Danica is basically riding on her at this point and Willow and Neran are behind them.)

"Yeah they do?"

"No," Danica says emphatically and very seriously. "Look. Marci, look. I'd die f'r ya."

(Marcellette's ears swivel back, flat along her head.) 

"But I'm _not_ gonna hike from Horizon out t' sea at this hour, it's _late._"

Still mystified, Marcellette squints, her tail lashing as she tries to make sense of what Danica's saying. Willow parses it faster, and busts out into peals of laughter (with the occasional _hic_ in the midst of it all). Neran takes his cue to patiently explain the misunderstanding. He doesn't think it's all that strange but he's realizing that, maybe just maybe, Marcellette is feeling the effects of that cactus piss a bit more than he'd thought. 

"We're not going to the Waking Sands, Danica, just Momodi's inn."

"Oh, oh _oh_."

"Yeah."

"Oh. All right. Okay, that's fine."

"Or, you know, we can go home!" Willow chirps, breaking the tension. Marcellette starts moving again, shifting to carry more of Danica's weight and half-carrying her, even though the fact that she can seems comically preposterous, given how much taller Danica is. 

"I dunno, isn't it bad t'teleport when you're all." Danica makes a few unclear motions with her hands, as if trying to pluck the words out of the air while she's searching for them. "You know? Bad f'r th' aether."

"Well. If we sober up, then!" Willow says easily, her head lolling a bit with drowsiness. Neran keeps an eye on her, but she doesn't need his help. The four of them stumble on through the night dark, and Neran thinks about how he'll make the room comfortable for four. There's room enough on the tile floor for all of them, he supposes. And he knows there's a little chair in the room with cushions they can steal. He has extra blankets, too. They'll make themselves as comfy as they can with that, and Neran will probably take the bed, unless Danica really needs it. He'd prefer the bed, of course; he paid for it. But, well. The floor of a cozy inn room isn't the worst place he's ever had to sleep. He'd survive. 

By the time they make it to the Quicksand, it's past midnight. Momodi's not up this late; at the front desk in her stead is a young hyur woman with brown eyes and white hair. Neran supposes he keeps pretty ordinary hours, because he's never met her before. It's mildly inconvenient, really: the unfamiliar clerk demands identification to prove that Neran really is rooming there, because of course, they've never met. Being questioned makes him feel flustered and out of sorts all over again. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize he can just show her his name in Momodi's guildbook. When he does, the clerk's expression turns from haughty to worried, and she hastily allows them back behind the counter to the hall beyond, apologizing for holding them up. 

"What kind of stories does Momodi tell about you, I wonder?" Marcellette muses as they half-drag, half-carry a softly singing Danica into his room. 

"Hopefully only true ones."

"Ha! Well, it's Momodi." Now she shrugs, which shifts Danica toward Neran. "If you can't trust her, you can't trust anybody, right?" 

"Yes, but if she's telling her staff about me-"

"And why shouldn't she?" 

"Wh-! Why _would_ she?"

"'Cause y're a _Warrior o' Light!_" Danica cheers, pumping her fist. Marcellette nods, looking satisfied, and Neran shoulders ahead to unlock the door to his room and put an end to this topic by changing the subject. He fumbles with the key he'd barely remembered to hang 'round his neck when they'd first set out for the bar, and because he's still flustered it takes three tries to get the key successfully out from the collar of his shirt. Then he tries to unlock the door while balancing Danica between him and Marcellette, which only half works. The trouble is, Neran is tired, even if he's relatively un-drunk, compared to his friends. Being dextrous and doing complex things is hard right now. It's also challenging because Danica seems to have misplaced all of her bones, and is exceptionally melty at the moment. 

"Maybe _sort of_ but the most notable things I do are keep the peace for the Sultana and- and sew fine brocade," Neran protests, still struggling with the key. He manages to slot it into the lock on his second try, and tries to ignore Marcellette's cheerful counterpoint. 

"Tales of weaving, then! Embellished with details of your heroism!"

"That would make for rumors about me which is bad so no, thank you." Neran says quickly, trying not to get all shaky and weirded out. When Neran blushes, it goes all the way up his ears and down his neck. He's very pale and also if he gets stressed out for any reason (up to and including panic, anger, agitation, surprise, fear, confusion, embarrassment, excessive happiness, or even worry) he tends to blush, so that's happening now. He tries to keep his breathing even, and he worries about whether or not Momodi has been telling Big Damn Hero stories about him. Neran admittedly yes is a Warrior of Light but also he did not sign up for being famous, infamous, or otherwise noteworthy enough to have to wonder if strangers talk about him, sometimes. 

_But do strangers talk about him sometimes? _This is going to bother him all night, now, he knows it. 

"It's a bad habit, assuming the worst of people," Marcellette teases. Somewhere in the middle of him having a minor panic attack they apparently got the door open and passed the threshold. Marcellette and Neran ease Danica down to sit on the floor, while Willow politely closes the door behind them. Danica, for her part, just sags down, letting them guide her fall so she doesn't go too fast or hit her head or anything. The cool of the tiles seems to jolt her more awake when she's seated, and she pouts, looking around the room with a suspicious scowl. 

"Booze where?"

"All done booze," Marcellette chides. "I have a jug of orange juice if you're thirsty, though."

"Boo. Unless it's secret booze."

Neran turns to his bed, smoothing out the sheets and checking to be sure they're clean enough to be sleeping on. He feels like a hypocrite, just a little, since his bath from hours ago hasn't done anything to mitigate the smell of his own sweat, or the ale he downed while they were still back at the _Pinion._ But, he wouldn't want to go to bed if it was messy, even if he himself will cause future mess, and he is frankly too tired to wonder much about why that mentally works out for him, with its non-equivalent exchange. Also maybe just a little bit he is trying to escape the conversation until it is solidly and definitely turned away from the subject of _him_. 

"'fraid not, Voss, sorry."

"Pass, then."

Danica turns up her nose, quite literally, but Willow (who has been sitting quietly beside Danica, watching wide-eyed as they talk) asks Marcellette in a wondering tone, 

"Where'd you get oranges out _here_, anyway?"

For his part, Neran assumes that Marcellette brought the juice with her when she came into town from Limsa Lominsa. Her house- the one she actually lives in, as opposed to the one that's in Gridania for their gatherings and plannings and general use and visitors and such- is out in La Noscea, anyway. It would make sense, maybe even start a story about how she came by the stuff. But, she doesn't admit to any of that, instead putting a finger to her lips as if to shush Willow's question. 

"It's a secret!" Her voice is all sing-songy, and she sits down on the floor beside Danica. 

That makes three of them, now, and Neran is starting to calm down. It's quiet here, and he keeps the lights low when he's not working on something that requires seeing fine needlepoint. It smells a little like lye, but only very faintly, not enough to agitate his nose. It's been over an hour since he stopped drinking his second drink, and he feels reasonably sober, maybe a bit dehydrated, even. Neran takes a few more calming breaths, and turns away from his bed. They're winding down, after all, and while the bed is a magnitude or two more comfortable than the floor, that's where everyone else is sitting now. He sits down with them, not wanting to be left out. 

For a while the conversation drifts. They scoot apart, backs to the wall, set up along a corner. Willow's closest to the door, Marcellette to her left. Bent in by the corner and close enough that their feet are in the same space is Danica, and furthest away from them all is Neran, appreciating the cool stone on his back, on his palms. He tunes out as Willow and Danica go into a lengthy discussion of guild politics, particularly relating to the thaumaturgy guild and its latest drama (something about someone stealing materials from someone else and then lying about it), and watches as Marcellette gets quiet, her eyes gleaming in the dark, tailtip twitching softly, ears not quite relaxed. 

"Anyway," Willow is saying, when he jolts back out of his reverie and into focus. "I know they've asked us to send a representative to the gathering, but I really think it ought to be someone else. I'm worried about the Empire's army."

"Mm," Danica says quietly. "Me too. If they march- I mean, 'f they march _again_, if they try t'-" 

She swallows hard, and clenches her hands so tight Neran can hear the leather of her gloves creak.

"I don't wanna lose my home."

"We'll be there, Danica. We've got your back." 

When she looks at him with tears in her eyes, Neran wonders if he said the wrong thing; but she punches his arm affectionately, and says _thanks_. The lull in conversation that follows is so still and quiet, in fact, that Neran almost dozes himself, only awakened by the sound of Danica beginning to snore. It takes a while for him to get awake enough to stand and fetch the blankets he'd been planning to offer, and when he returns to their corner, he discovers that Willow, too, is dozing off. She's awake enough to murmur thanks for the blankets, but like Danica, she doesn't have more to say. She's probably had almost as long and tiring a day as Neran himself.

Danica nestles up into the blanket as soon as it's atop her, pulling it close like a coccoon; and Neran is startled by Marcellette's soft chuckle, because he'd thought he was the only one still up. 

But no, there she is, her eyes gleaming in the dark: one gold, one almost white. 

"How're you holding up?" he asks, because the instinctual part of his brain just jumpstarted his heart, even though it's only Marci, and now he's feeling suddenly _very _ awake. 

She's a gray-and-black miqo'te by coloration, and when she didn't dye her hair, she could meld into shadows if she wore the right clothes, only her eyes potentially giving her away. He doesn't know how she came by her skills of stealth, but he knows it's something Thancred has never stopped being irritated by, because he has endured more than one cranky tirade about it. Maybe Neran ought to be more scared of her than he is, maybe that's what that reflexive adrenaline rush is all about, but he can't really reconcile the image of a deadly, shadowy assassin with Marcellette. She's too silly, and too sisterly. She has been there for him too much.

And right now, she looks too sad, and he doesn't know why, but he wants to. 

"Did I ever- did I ever tell you about how he died?" Marcellette says softly, and Neran immediately knows who she means, and his tongue feels heavy. They're only a few feet apart but it feels so far, now. 

"No," Neran says honestly. "You didn't." 

He remembers being relieved, in a horrible way, that he hadn't made it to the rooftop in time to see what transpired. He remembers being devastated. Aymeric being devastated. Marcellette had just been quiet. Quieter than ever. He had thought at the time, _how odd._ He saw her smiling, but he didn't understand how she could do it, or why. 

Mostly, he remembers how she'd disappeared for a while, and none of them had had any idea where she could have gone to, while they kept working with Tataru in her absence, kept Alphinaud from collapsing as he nearly worked himself to an early grave, seeking answers, seeking justice. 

"It was my fault, really, Nern."

"It wasn't-"

"But it really was, though. It was. I don't carry a shield around, you know? He was-" Her voice breaks, and she smiles again, that awful same smile as _then_, and keeps going. "_He_ was my shield. He was just like you. Just like you."

He wants to close the distance, and hug her, because if it was Neran, he would want to be hugged. But he sees that stay-away tilt to her ears, and her tail, fluffed out bigger than he thought it could get, and he hesitates. 

Instead, Neran says, 

"He's been on your mind, then?"

She nods, and wipes at her nose, and laughs. (Maybe. Maybe that's another sound that could pass as a laugh if you lied to yourself.)

"Always."

Neran doesn't know what to do, or how to fix this. He doesn't know the words to say to change that awful smile into something genuine again. But he does want to try, so he says:

"That's good. I mean- I don't mean it's good that you feel- survivor's guilt, I guess, but it's good that you can still think about him."

"Yeah," and she sniffles again, and maybe he sees the tears tracking down her face, but maybe his glasses are smudged and it's dim in here. 

After a while, Neran asks, "Marcellette?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you...you know. Are you okay?"

He's pretty sure nobody's asked her that in years. Except Lin, maybe. Maybe Lin. He sees the cornered way she looks around the room. It's easy, Neran knows, to fill the need to be seen by doing service for others. It's simple to make other people happy, and neglect your own happiness.

"No."

But there's nothing in the room but Neran, no one to deflect to. He sees her weigh it in her mind, sees the moment she makes her decision because Marcellette lets the smile go, finally. 

"I'm tired." 

**Author's Note:**

> Neran's player hasn't finished ARR yet, while Danica's player is in Stormblood now, and Willow and I have finished Shadowbringers; so the idea here is that it's Shadowbringers time, but only in the absolute vaguest of sense. The writing will be super coy to avoid spoilers whilst also making nods at things that have happened or will come later and my guess at how various characters would or will react to various bits of knowledge. 
> 
> In this iteration of the universe, also: Marci's married to her canon wife, R'linvra Rhiki; Willow and Urianger are An Item; Danica and Estinien have a Thing, but Neran doesn't canonically know Estinien yet so that's the joke; and Neran may someday have Feelings about People but that's not important right now. 
> 
> And the youngest of the six Warriors of Light, Jihlel, is 100% with Alisaie, but they're gonna be Madams Not Appearing In This Fic, for reasons.
> 
> Fic is set juuuust before Shadowbringers begins for Reasons.


End file.
